


Hello, My Old Heart

by lettertoelise



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst With A Side of Angst, Endgame Fitzsimmons, F/M, Fitz leaves, FitzSimmons find their way back to one another, Jealousy, post 3x08
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-02 08:21:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5241377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettertoelise/pseuds/lettertoelise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even from the moment he began his procession of goodbyes, Fitz still hoped Jemma might stop him.</p><p> </p><p>post 3x08 - After Will returns from the blue planet, Fitz leaves Jemma and the Playground.  His life changes, as does hers, but eventually they find a way back to one another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fitz

Even from the moment he began his procession of goodbyes, Fitz still hoped Jemma might stop him.  Daisy hugged him warmly and Hunter began with an enthusiastic handshake and finished in a tearful embrace.  There was the stiff, “See you around, Turbo,” from Mack, followed by Coulson’s firm, affectionate shoulder grab.  Tears danced in the corners of Bobbi’s eyes as she pulled him close and May surprised him with an uncharacteristic peck on the cheek.

 

Even Will offered a thankful handshake (It was annoying how incredibly decent he was) but Jemma just hung limply at the end of the line, not quite meeting his eye as he slowly approached.  Stopping in front of her, he found himself searching, silently pleading for some indication this was a mistake.  

 

“Goodbye, Simmons,” he said softly, extending a hand.  It was a cheap shot, using her surname, but it pulled her eyes to his.  She looked small and alone despite the crowd of people and Fitz fought the urge to tuck her inside his arms and hold on to her forever.  But that wasn’t his job.  Not now.  

 

Jemma released a shuddering breath, wiping rogue tears from her cheeks.  “You’ll be safe?” she whispered, so soft he almost missed it.  

 

Fitz choked on the familiar words, sudden nausea rolling over him.  It was real.  He was leaving.  

 

***

 

The new lab was objectively beautiful, if not quite as intuitive as the one he’d designed with Simmons.  Fitz tried to adjust, throwing himself into his work, but he was hollow.  The decision to leave had been his, but it’s necessity was still an open wound, the dull ache soured his moods, stole his appetite, and left him sleepless.  

 

It was Callie, his new lab partner, who first pulled him aside after weeks of tiptoeing around him.  Under different circumstances he would have found her manner warm, perhaps even inviting, but Fitz was having trouble seeing outside of himself, seeing anything really but the one thing that wasn’t there.  

 

“So, you’re going to need to stop yelling at the lab technicians,” she said gently.  Fitz was slouched in his chair, arms crossed defensively.  Callie leaned her slim frame against the desk opposite.  Brow furrowed, she changed her approach.  

 

“Look, I get that you’re in a bad place right now - It’s written all over you.  I don’t need you to be completely on board here.”  She paused momentarily, dark eyes searching out his.  “I just need you to try.”

 

Fitz sighed, his shoulders loosening.  He didn’t deserve her empathy.  He’d been terrible, yelling at the staff, constantly pissing and moaning.  All the same, Callie stood watching him patiently, the fluorescent light of the lab bouncing off her chestnut skin.  If he had to guess, Fitz would have said she was only a year or two older than him.  Rumor had it she’d worked for a while in the private sector before Hydra had killed her husband and she’d joined S.H.I.E.L.D.  

 

Finally looking up, Fitz emitted a guilty, “I’m sorry,” accompanied by a soft shrug.  She answered with a smile.

 

They stood for a moment in the lingering silence until she pushed herself up and offered, “The rest of us are playing MarioKart in the commons.  I think you should join us.”

 

Fitz scoffed, “Yeah, right.  I’m sure they all hate me.”

 

Callie nodded her head in agreement with a light-hearted chuckle, “They most certainly do.  Which is why you should come and let them completely wallop you.  I think it’s the only thing you can do at this point.”

 

Fitz returned her grin in spite of himself and stood to follow.  He had to start somewhere.  

 

***

 

Daisy’s visit was a welcome surprise.  She strode into the lab, wasting no time before pulling Fitz into her arms and tossing his short curls with her hand.  After a warm greeting to Callie, she grabbed his hand and stole him away to the kitchen to catch up.  

 

“I . . . I didn’t know you were coming.” Fitz said, setting the kettle atop the stove.  

 

Daisy grinned sheepishly, “I wanted to surprise you.  Besides, I’ve got business here and thought it would be a good excuse to pop in.”

 

There was an awkward pause before either of them dared speak again.  The weight of unasked questions coated the air and Fitz swallowed hard on the thickness of it.  

 

“So…” he began, “How’s….you know…?”  

 

Daisy nodded, “She’s doing fine.  Misses you.  I didn’t tell her I was coming to see you.”

 

“You didn’t?  Why not?”  Fitz asked, surprised.  

 

“I don’t know, Fitz.  Do you want to talk about her, or are you trying to move on?”

 

He flinched as if he’d been stung and Daisy reached her hand across the table to wrap around his.  

 

“She hasn’t - she hasn’t written to me, well, apart from professional e-mails and the like.  I don’t know.”  Fitz’s face grew dark, teapot forgotten as he suddenly disappeared behind a thoughtful, pained gaze.

 

Daisy hated to see him this way.  He’d lost weight and the dark smudges beneath his eyes made it clear he wasn’t sleeping.  The stubble on his chin had started to get away from him, looking more like an untidy beard.  

 

He’d pulled himself back, suddenly, and was standing to pour tea, instinctively rising as the pot began to whistle.

 

“So you said you’ve got business here?”    

 

“Yes!  I haven’t checked in with Callie for a while.”  Seeing the confusion on Fitz’s face, she continued, “You do know she’s Inhuman, right?”

 

Fitz shook his head.  “No, no idea.  What’s her - what’s her gift?”  

 

Daisy laughed as Fitz handed her a steaming mug and took a seat.  “Well!  You’ll have to ask her!”  

 

***

 

Fitz found Callie hunched over her desk, pouring over the data from the day’s trials.  She didn’t see him as he entered and he cleared his throat as not to startle her.  

 

“Hey,” he said as she sat up.  She rubbed the bridge of her nose, pinching her eyes shut, but still managed to gesture at the chair beside her.  Fitz took it and leaned back.  She must be used to his awkwardness by now.  He’d slowly started repairing things with the staff, but Callie was still the only one who managed to be nice to him.  

 

“You have a nice visit with Daisy?” she asked, stifling a yawn.  

 

Fitz bobbed back and forth in his chair, restless.  “Yeah, she said she was here to meet with you, actually.”

 

A smile broke out across the young woman’s face and she chuckled softly, “I take it she told you then?”

 

Fitz nodded.  His eyes were inquisitive and she sighed playfully, anticipating his question.

 

“It’s hard to explain.  Let me show you.  Give me your bad hand.”  She raised an eyebrow at his surprised expression.  “Yeah, you tend to favor that one, always rubbing it.  I’m observant.”

 

Reaching out to take his hand in hers, he gasped at the warmth of the contact, the muscles in his hand and arm relaxing almost immediately.  

 

Callie continued, “When I first changed, I couldn’t control it.  I’d touch people and they’d fall asleep.  But now...I like to use my gift to make people feel comfortable.  Daisy has been trying to talk me into using it as an interrogation technique, but it just doesn’t seem right.”  She’d cast her eyes downward, forehead lost in a cascade of loose dark curls.  She was working her hands gently up and down Fitz’s forearm, massaging the space between his fingers, pressing her warmth into his palm.  

 

“Does it still hurt?” She asked, carefully.  

 

Fitz nodded.  “Every day.  But . . . This?  This is ok.” and suddenly he let out an involuntary groan, coloring slightly as Callie smiled at him in satisfaction.  

 

“Anytime,” she returned.  And then, “Fitz?”

 

“Mhmmm?” he answered, eyes closed now, mesmerized by the heat in his hand, the release of his muscles.  

 

“Daisy told me some things about you too, you know.  And . . . I just wanted you to know . . .  It does get better.  That ache, it never really goes away, but you learn to live with it.  When Hank first died, I thought it would destroy me.  I didn’t know how to live without him beside me.  But - here I am.  You’ll get there too.”

  
Her words melted, mixing with the softness of her touch and the heat pulsing through his arm.  For the first time, Fitz thought it might be true.


	2. Jemma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is un-beta'd and ran away with me slightly, but I hope you like it anyway!

It had been six months. It would have been cruel to make him stay, let him be a witness to the intimacy of her reunion with Will, to make Fitz watch her care for him through rehab. When Fitz approached her with his decision, Jemma was met with the simultaneous bounty of relief and of heartbreak. She had to let him go.

Jemma had thrown herself into her efforts rehabilitating Will, welcoming the rediscovery of their companionship and escaping into the heat of their romance.

But Fitz was always there - he was stamped on her. His words were on her breath, his voice in her head. Will would catch Jemma talking to herself, but never asked questions, almost as if he already knew the answer. Every trick of light conjured Fitz’s image, head bent in concentration, hands on his hips. She dreamt of the flutter of light eyelashes on soft cheeks, of kisses both tender and fierce.

Jemma found herself absentmindedly orbiting his desk throughout the day, stopping occasionally to trace the hard surface with her fingers to linger over the dents and rough patches. Sometimes she’d curl up into his chair, when she was alone and the lab was quiet, and watch the birthday video on her phone. She’d smile through tears as his face appeared on the screen, washed out from the proximity, but still lovely. Slowly she’d let grief claim her, drowning in the sound of his voice.

***

“You’re trying to pick a fight with me.” Will’s tone was full of his usual quiet seriousness.

“I am not!” Jemma replied offensively, “I’m merely stating that -”

“You’re trying to pick a fight with me,” Will interrupted, flatly.

It wasn’t the first time they’d played this game and Jemma huffed in irritation. He never engaged, the steadiness she usually admired in him never paused. Arguments either ended in his shrugged acquiescence or in a genuine blazing anger with one another, resulting in long stretches of loaded silence.  There was no light banter between them, no clever jabs or rolled eyes.  Jemma never thought she’d miss bickering. 

She still loved Will. She was so proud of his determination, how he’d been tackling his rehabilitation and even endearing himself to the crew (even Hunter was softening).

But their game always ended the same way.

“It’s not fair to compare me to him.”

“I wasn’t, I just -”

And Will would always stand and walk out.

***

Jemma thought she was ready until she found herself paralyzed, standing helplessly in front of the door to Fitz’s new base. It had been a year and Jemma had been called in as a consultant to investigate a new strain of virus. Fitz had devised a delivery mechanism, but his new partner was struggling to isolate the vaccine (antiserum - she had corrected him). They’d exchanged a few terse, professional e-mails before it was determined she should just come see for herself.

Bobbi poked her gently. “It’s now or never, hon,” she encouraged warmly. Jemma swallowed hard and finally willed her legs to work.

The base itself was a labyrinth, all sprawling hallways and sterile walls. It lacked the character of the Playground, but it did have windows.

The new partner, Dr. Callie Fischer, met them outside the lab eagerly. She was prettier than Jemma hoped she’d be - and younger. “We really appreciate you making the trip out here, Agent Simmons. Fitz tells me this is your specialty.”

 _We_? Jemma bristled but the woman took her hand warmly and she felt herself relax.

“Yes. Glad to help. You’ll acquaint us with the lab, then?”

Callie opened the glass doors and ushered them both inside. Jemma didn’t see Fitz immediately, standing obscured by the shelving, angled away. He looked slightly broader, perhaps having settled into his late 20s, his short stubble having turned into a beard. He still seemed to favor blue button ups and cardigans, Jemma thought with a smile. He looked like home.

Fitz finally looked up as they approached, his startled expression achingly familiar, all blue eyes and soft edges. The beard made him look older but no less handsome.

“Um, hey,” he said in greeting, brightening as they got closer.

Bobbi chuckled at his loss for words, and pulled him into a hug.

“I didn’t know you were coming too,” he said lightly as she released him.

Bobbi rolled her head playfully in Jemma’s direction, “Yeah, someone had to come and keep _this_ one in line.”

Jemma and Fitz smiled weakly at one another, eyes meeting briefly before rushing to the floor. Jemma was trying to pull herself together, trying to shake off the sudden shyness that gripped her tongue and froze her features in an awkward smile. Her voice came out perkier than she’d intended as she asked to see her workspace and Callie came over to give her the official lab tour.

“I thought I’d give you my desk so you’d have enough space. I can work over with Fitz for a few days, he won’t mind. But are you hungry at all? I don’t want to rush you right to work.”

Callie’s words were meant kindly but hit Jemma like pinpricks. Fitz hated sharing his workspace with anyone, but Callie’s offer had been so casual, as though they did it all the time. Breaking from her inner quarrel, Jemma realized they were all looking at her, waiting for her to say something.

“Not hungry, no. Um - Let’s get to it, then, shall we?”

***

It was the end of an excruciating day. It had started as a marathon of awkwardness, her and Fitz competing to see who could break the most equipment or walk into the most furniture. It didn’t help that every time Jemma looked up, stupid Callie was standing next to him, her hands discretely laid over his or resting on his shoulder. And the way he seemed to relax into her . . .since when did being lab partners involve so much touching?

Jemma was on a mission to put a warm mug of tea between her hands when she was interrupted by the sound of laughter. His laughter. It started as a bark and rolled into chuckles, punctuated by Callie’s soft giggles.

 _“You’re just choosing Donkey Kong because he’s a monkey!”_ Callie’s voice floated in from the commons.

 _“He’s not a monkey, he’s a great ape. You of all people should know that!”_ Fitz was retorting, in what sounded like fine teasing form.

Jemma felt like the floor had shaken loose beneath her and she found herself fumbling for the wall and sinking to her knees. It had been so long since she’d heard him laugh, since even before the blue planet. The sound was like finding something she hadn’t realized she’d lost. At the Academy, even at Sci-Ops, laughter had always been such an integral part of what they were. When had they lost it?

The throb of her revelation only deepened as Jemma realized he’d found laughter again - with someone else.

It was Bobbi who found her huddled in the hallway, who saw her red rimmed eyes and scooped her up, guiding her to their shared guest room. Her eyes were imploring, but the older woman knew Jemma would tell her when she was ready, and so she waited.

***

Jemma was quiet and even more distant on the second day. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him, to see how he didn’t mind Callie in his space. She didn’t want to notice the cute way Callie’s dark curls were pulled into two identical puffs on either side of her head or the way her purple blouse flatteringly set off her dark complexion. Jemma didn’t want to remember the way Fitz’s strong forearms looked as he rolled up his sleeves above the elbow, or the charming way he scratched the back of his neck while in thought. So she set determinedly about her work - they were almost there, really - scarcely looking up from her station.

When Jemma broke for a quick lunch, Fitz found her in the kitchen.

“Have I done something wrong, Jemma?” he asked, his voice a mixture of confusion, annoyance, and concern.

“Oh, no,” she replied, trying to smile casually. And then less convincingly, “Why would you think that?”

He eyed her skeptically. “Because you’ve barely said two words to me today, and you’re working in the lab like you’re possessed, like you can’t get out of here fast enough.”

Jemma stared down at her shuffling feet. Of course he noticed. He always noticed. “No, it’s just -” Jemma summoned the bravery to look up into his face. “It’s just different seeing you here, is all. Like you’re different but also the same.”

He shrugged. “I could say the same about you.” Jemma smiled, raising an intrigued eyebrow,

“Really? How so?”

“Well, for starters, you just look so much older now. Are you 30 yet? I lose track sometimes, where you’re older than me . . .” Fitz was smirking as Jemma awoke to the irony in his voice and smacked him playfully on the arm.

“That’s not fair! You know our birthdays are only two months apart!” She shot back.

They stood for a moment, savoring the familiar give and take, before Fitz broke in, “So, um, you’re not mad then?”

Jemma smiled and rolled her eyes to look at him, as if forced by muscle memory, “Oh Fitz, never. Not once.”

“Then maybe you’ll write, once you get back?” he ventured carefully. He’d looked away for a moment, restlessness betraying his nerves. Jemma felt herself light up at the suggestion.

“Yes! I will! And you’ll write?”

Fitz answered in a gentle nod of the head.  It was a start.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll try to get to the next chapter in the next few days *fingers crossed*
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!


	3. Fitz & Simmons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So so so many thanks to ezwriter for being my sounding board for this chapter and for holding in her laughter just long enough to help me sort together some sciencey sounding business for the e-mail correspondence. 
> 
> Word of caution - if you are a real scientist, you might want to look away!

 

Chapter 3:  Fitz & Simmons

 

Jemma stood beside Will in the mirror, smoothing her dress anxiously.  He was fixing his tie.

 

“Here, let me,” she said spinning him toward her and unlooping the material swiftly and quickly readjusting.  As novel as fancy dress was for them, their movements still felt rehearsed.  They lived life side by side, mechanically following expired patterns.  It had happened slowly, the silence between them building until one day Jemma just stopped reaching for him.  

 

They had become strangers who knew each other through rote memorization, every expression and mannerism.  When she looked up now he was staring at her knowingly as she irritably paced the room.  

 

“Go on down.  You don’t have to wait for me.”  His tone was even, almost detached.  

 

Jemma looked back at him guiltily.  “I don’t mind waiting for you.  Go ahead and finish getting ready.”

 

Will sighed, annoyed, and opened the suitcase in pursuit of socks.  Jemma was sitting on the hotel bed, drumming her fingers mindlessly on the mattress.  

 

It had been eight months since she’d last seen Fitz.  The correspondence that filled the space between them had slowly grown braver, more frequent.  Their tenuous friendship was porcelain in her hands, but she couldn’t stop herself.  This - Bobbi and Hunter’s wedding - the knowledge she might see him, had simultaneously sustained and terrified her.  

 

Jemma looked back at Will.  He was brushing his teeth now.  There was nothing charming about his morning routine, he was slow and heavy footed as he marched from one hygienic ritual to the next.  Did she still love him?  She wasn’t sure.  Love had never felt like a choice - how could she know?  

 

Fitz had said once that they were cursed but Jemma knew now he was only half right.  It was she who was cursed, trapped between two loves, not able to give either what they deserved.  

 

Her knee was bouncing restlessly now, shaking the entire bed along with it.

 

Will finally snapped at her.  He knew why she was nervous, why she couldn’t sit still, why she hadn’t slept for days. The guilt was ripe in her chest, but she left the room anyway.  

 

***

 

Fitz threw his tie moodily on the floor.  It was ridiculous.  How was it that he could build a droid, dismember bombs, cross bloody space and time - but still not be able to tie a damn tie.  Irritated, he gripped his shaking hand.  If Callie had been there she could have helped, she’d even offered to come as his plus one, but Fitz wanted to do this alone.  

 

Still a little hung over from the night before, he quickly downed some aspirin and  decided to raid the continental breakfast bar downstairs in the lobby.  It hadn’t been the wildest of bachelor parties, five guys sitting at the bar sharing stories from the field and having a laugh, but it had been nice.  As much as he’d assimilated to his new lab, Fitz missed his friends.

 

Satisfied, Fitz left the buffet juggling a bagel, yogurt, banana, a cup of Froot-Loops, and a small cup of coffee.  It was then he saw Jemma, making her way toward him between the stiff looking hotel arm chairs, her face lighting up as her eyes met his.

 

“Oh Fitz, what is all this?  There’s going to be food after the ceremony!” She exclaimed in mock exasperation, playfully reaching over to help by grabbing the banana and the cereal from his folded arms.  Eyeing his coffee she rolled her eyes.

 

Fitz grumbled, defensively.  “There’s no tea here!  And anything is tolerable with enough sugar in it.”

 

“Where were you headed with all this?”  She asked, amusement still playing on her lips.  Fitz cursed himself silently.  He had imagined this going differently, seeing Jemma for the first time in months.  He’d hoped he’d come across more . . . collected, not bumbling in the lobby with his arms full of snacks.  

 

“My room.  I was afraid I’d get hungry in the middle of the vows.  Hunter would never forgive me if my stomach interrupted his wedding.  Or Bobbi, for that matter.”  Hands still full, he twitched his head, indicating for her to follow.  Why hadn’t he thought to bring a bag with him?    

 

Handing Jemma the styrofoam cup of coffee, Fitz fumbled for his room key, finally pulling it out to unlock the door and dump his stash on the bed while he searched for something to carry his rations.  Halting for a moment, Jemma tipped over to pick up the tie Fitz had angrily abandoned on the floor.  

 

Fitz could see her turning the fabric over in her hands, working out the story.  She looked suddenly to meet his gaze, eyes soft, if not reminiscent.  Jemma looked like a dream, hair swept into a twist, the deep auburn color just an extension of her maroon party dress.  Fitz was speechless for a moment, staring at her as she worked her way over to him to drape the tie around his shoulders and tuck it under his collar.  

 

“Here, let me,” she said softly.  She was standing so close he could smell her vanilla shampoo, almost feel her breath on his neck.  Fitz felt his body stiffen as her swift fingers accidentally whispered across his collarbone.  It had been almost two years since he’d left, two years since he started trying to move on, but he stood as powerless in front of her now as he’d ever been, swept up in the current of longing and sadness.  

 

Closing his eyes, Fitz took a step back, tearing himself from the intimacy of her gesture.  “It’s fine, Jemma,” he said roughly, taking the tie gently from her hands and laying it in his suitcase, “I don’t even know why I brought it.  We’d um . . . better get back to the others.  I’ve got to go check on Hunter and all that.”

 

“Oh.  Yes.  Of course.”  There was distress laced in Jemma’s voice but Fitz didn’t follow it to her eyes.  He couldn’t.  

 

He watched the floor as he heard the door open quietly and he knew she was gone.  

 

***

 

From:   **Jemma Simmons**

To:  Leopold Fitz (6 months ago)

Subject:  Update

 

Dear Fitz,

I’ve forwarded you the results of my last series of tests.  So far they are inconclusive, but I plan on running additional trials.  I’d be curious to hear your opinion.

 

Simmons

  


From:   **Leopold Fitz**

To:  Jemma SImmons (6 months ago)

Subject:  Re: Update

 

Jemma,

I’m no chemist, but I wonder what would happen if you tried to isolate the polymers?

 

Fitz

  


From:   **Jemma Simmons**

To:  Leopold Fitz (5 months ago)

Subject:  Re: Re:  Update

 

Fitz,

 

Thanks for the suggestion.  I tried a process using pyrophoric organometallic compounds to initiate living polymerization but the results were difficult to measure considering the limited resources we have here at the lab.  Mack has been trying to upgrade the rotary vacuum but has been hitting some roadblocks.  

 

Jemma

 

P.S.  Did you get my the birthday package I sent you?

  


From:   **Leopold Fitz**

To:  Jemma Simmons (5 months ago)

Subject:  Re: Re: Update

 

I went ahead and sent you the schematics for a loop reactor system I devised a few years ago that might be useful.  It should be able to handle both liquid and gaseous monomers.  I uploaded it to your file under the title “Polymer Dream Machine.”  

 

Yes, I got your package yesterday.  Thanks.  I’m waiting to open it on my proper birthday per tradition.  I think my mum sent me another jumper but I haven’t the heart to tell her the lab here is much warmer with all these windows.  

 

Fitz

  


From:   **Jemma Simmons**

To:  Leopold Fitz  (5 months ago)

Subject:  Re:  Re:  Update

 

Thanks!  The loop reactor system is perfect.  Mack and I looked over the schematics you sent but he says he wishes you were here to build it.  

 

I miss windows.  Do you remember the giant windows in Professor Vaughn’s lecture hall at the Academy?  You always used to curl up like a cat in the sun during class and I’d have to poke you awake.  Hopefully you have moved beyond that by now ;)

 

Jemma

  


From:   **Leopold Fitz**

To:  Jemma Simmons (5 months ago)

Subject:  Thanks

 

I just opened the birthday package and am going through it’s contents now.  When did you have time to put this all together?  I’m very excited about the tea.  And it’s from back home - how did you manage that?  

 

The shortbread is amazing.  I didn’t know you still had my mother’s recipe.  She would be very proud.  Also - where on earth did you find so many different kinds of pretzels?  I plan on trying them all, which should be easy because there are no tyrants here forcing me to keep snacks out of the lab . . .

 

And of course a stuffed monkey.  Very funny.  He will be good company on my desk.  

Thanks again, Jemma.  It means a lot.

 

Fitz

  


From:   **Jemma Simmons**

To:  Leopold Fitz (5 months ago)

Subject:  Re:  Thanks

 

I’m so excited you liked everything.  Also-you and I both know it is a hazard to bring food into the lab for threat of potential contamination.  It’s standard protocol.  

 

I found the tea on a stopover in London a few months back and thought of you.  It’s so hard to find anyone who appreciates a good cup of English Breakfast in the morning.  Even here it’s just me these days - Hunter has completely switched to coffee.  

 

Anyway, I’m glad you liked your presents.  You know I couldn’t forget.

 

Jemma

 

***

The service had been short, Hunter and Bobbi on the beach with the old team ringed around them.  Afterwards they’d shared a casual sandwich bar and the girls decided there should be dancing.  

 

That was how Fitz found himself standing at the back of a bar, clutching a beer to his chest and tapping his foot numbly to the beat set by the live band in the corner.  Mack had disappeared, Hunter and Bobbi were pressed together, swaying to the music, Jemma and Daisy were holding hands, laughing and bobbing up and down, and even Coulson and May would occasionally get up and demonstrate how dancing was supposed to look.  

 

Fitz was trying not to stare at Jemma, trying not to notice how gravity had slowly eased rogue strands of hair down from her twist to frame her face, how her eyes sparkled as she laughed with her friend.  He suddenly felt like he was 17 again, shy and awkward, desperately searching for something clever to say to her.  

 

He felt a man pull up beside him and he turned to see Will, eyes focused on the same place Fitz’s had just left.  

 

“Hey, it’s been a long time.  You must be fully recovered by now?”  Fitz’s attempt at good humor felt stale but Will didn’t seem to notice.  

 

“Yeah, more or less.  I’m not sure I know anymore what fully recovered must feel like.  Jemma says your new lab is working out?”

 

Fitz swallowed awkwardly.  “Yeah, I guess so.”  And then silence, the taller man leaning back against the wall, eyes never straying from their target.  

 

Fitz felt like something inside of him moved, shifting just slightly.  Looking from Will to Jemma, the man’s intent gaze and the way her eyes kept darting in their direction, everything fell into perspective.  In a terrible way he envied Callie, as a widow her choice had been made for her, she was forced to move on, yet he was trapped in purgatory, living in perpetual punishment as long as he chose to keep Jemma in his life.

 

It was a reminder of why he had left.

 

***

 

“What’s wrong?”  Daisy shouted over the music, still clutching Jemma’s hands as she noticed her friend’s face fall.  

 

“It’s nothing, just . . . did you see where Fitz went?”  Jemma yelled back, surveying the back wall.  She’d seen him talking with Will and then he’d suddenly disappeared.  Daisy shook her head and squeezed her friend’s hand affectionately before releasing.  Jemma made her way through the crowd to the back, but he was nowhere.  

 

Will was watching her.  “You looking for Fitz?  I think he left,”  he called.  

 

Jemma nodded in understanding and replied, “Did he say where he was going?  I’m not sure what time his flight leaves in the morning and I wanted to say goodbye.”

 

Will shrugged and looked away and Jemma balled her fists helplessly.  She’d barely seen Fitz since that morning.  For a moment she’d felt the easiness of their friendship returning, and in that moment, standing in front of him, inches away, breathing the same air, she’d felt the “more-than-that” until he’d stepped away and reestablished the distance between them.  

 

“I’m going to head back then and try to catch him.  It that OK?”  Jemma didn’t know why she was even asking, her feet were already committed to the decision, steering her toward the door.  Will met her eyes and gave a resigned nod.  He knew he couldn’t have stopped her anyway.  

 

She was surprised to meet Fitz in the lobby, standing at the check-out desk, backpack slung around his shoulders.  

 

Breathless she asked, “Where are you off to?”  

 

“Going to catch the shuttle.  Taking the red eye tonight, so I can’t stick around.” He answered, looking anywhere but in her direction.  

 

Disappointed painted Jemma’s face, her brow furrowed and she shook her head in annoyance.  “But . . . I’ve barely seen you.  I thought we could, I don’t know, have some tea and talk for a while.”  Her voice came out strained, as if pulled tight in her throat and Fitz shook his head absently.

 

“Nah, I’m sorry Jemma.  I . . . I can’t.”  

 

A blue bus pulled to a stop in front of the hotel entrance, opening it’s door to let passengers off and Fitz swiveled to watch.  Jemma felt the pressure of tears build until they spilled over, hands raising to her cheeks to catch them.  

 

“Fitz!” she called, causing him to turn before walking away, “You’ll be safe?”  It was their ritual - the words that would bring him back to her.  

  
“Goodbye, Jemma.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Polymer Dream Machine is actually a real thing made by the Pressure Chemical Company, on whose website we leaned heavily for inspiration. 
> 
> Also - One more chapter to go! 
> 
> Thanks for reading and comments are awesome!


	4. FitzSimmons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! The last chapter! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Thanks again to ezwriter for helping me work through my ideas and being my cheerleader. And huge thanks for all the kudos and comments. All of the support has been so incredibly meaningful. This fandom is awesome.

“So Daisy tells me Will has left S.H.I.E.L.D.”  Callie’s voice was even as she stared down into her microscope.  From the corner of her eye she snuck glimpses of her partner.  Fitz was bent over his desk, shoulders hunched.  

 

He employed that simple nod of his, giving up only a disaffected, “Mhmm.”  

 

“So were you going to say anything to her?”

 

“To Daisy?  No, probably not.”  He was playing it real cool.

 

“You know what I meant, Fitz.”  Callie sighed, finally raising herself to look at him, a hand straying to her hip.  

 

Fitz stopped and met her challenging stare.  “She knows where I am, Callie”

 

***

 

Will left the Playground with the sun at his back, Jemma watching  as the shuttle carried him away.  It had been an amicable separation, the connection between them having cooled like a flame deprived of oxygen, unable to sustain itself under the weight of their differences.

 

Jemma found life quickly picked up it’s usual routine, smoothly adapting to the new vacancy in her life.  It was the first time she had been alone in years, since being swept away to the blue planet, and everything finally fell under clear examination.  Beneath everything, Jemma found herself confronted with two undeniable truths:

 

  1. Her life had for too long been at the mercy of circumstance.  First losing Fitz, left clinging to the only person she thought could save her at the edge of nowhere and then to lose him again, bound by her heart’s obligation to save Will and help him recover.  It had been a cruel and repeated pattern in her life, being pulled from him again and again.  




 

  1. She had never been allowed the luxury of choosing what her heart so desperately wanted, to pursue a path that would soothe the unrelenting ache in her chest.  Loving Fitz was like breathing, something so natural and constant, it was a part of her chemistry.  He was oxygen and her lungs, her muscles, every part of her screamed in want of him.




 

Now all she had to do was decide how to tell him and, if nothing else, Jemma Simmons excelled at preparation.

 

However, the cosmos, as Fitz had once called them, seemed determined to intervene.  Her work at the lab suddenly tripled, leaving her breathless during the days and exhausted to the point of collapse.  Jemma had crossed paths with him a few times on collaborative missions or in the field but despite her efforts, contact was always fleeting, leaving barely any time for pleasantries, let alone confessions of love.  She had even tried writing him a letter, but her words, once committed to paper, never seemed enough to convey the depth of her feeling.  And so months had passed.

 

“So are you going to tell him?”  Bobbi asked.  The two women had been training together for a while, Jemma finding exercise the only way to burn the restless pressure that built in her every day.  

 

“Tell him what?”  Jemma replied, feigning innocence.  Bobbi glared at her and raised an eyebrow.  

 

“Are you going to tell Fitz you’re still crazy in love with him?” she clarified, wryly.  

 

Jemma sighed and rolled up from the mat.  “Yes . . .it’s just - there’s no right way to tell him.”  

 

Bobbie paused for a moment, stepping forward to place her hands comfortingly on her friend’s shoulders.  “Jemma Simmons, you are afraid.”

 

***

 

“What?  Fitz is here?  Right now?”  Jemma asked for the second time, staring at Hunter with intense confusion as her stomach suddenly rolled in disbelief.  

 

“Yeah, Coulson’s gone and sent for you.  They’re all in his office.  You alright, love?  You look a bit pale.”

 

Jemma barely heard him.  It didn’t make sense that Fitz would have come to the Playground and not tell her.  

 

When she stepped into Coulson’s office her mind was on fire with a thousand possible scenarios explaining their presence but it went vacant at the sight of him.  Clipped hair, linen shirt, dress pants and shoes, Fitz looked so keenly presentable, she stifled a smile.  He’d comes so far from the awkward boy she’d once known, the one who had a weakness for garishly plaid button-ups and mismatched ties.  

 

“Jemma, it’s good you’re here,”  Coulson jumped right in, as usual. “Now, as you know, S.H.I.E.L.D. has been without a proper scientific training facility since the Academy fell at the hands of Hydra years ago.  Agent Weaver, would you like to take over?”

 

The dignified woman nodded and picked up Coulson’s trail, “Over the past few years I have been amassing the resources to reopen the Academy and now there is no longer a need to keep S.H.I.E.L.D. a secret, I feel the timing is right to move.  I have recruited Agent Fitz here to be my right hand in this, but,” she paused to send Coulson a good humoured smile, “I do need the Director’s approval before we can take the first steps.”

 

Jemma’s face lit with excitement.  “That’s incredible, Agent Weaver!  I would be honoured, of course, to assist in any way that I can.”

 

“That’s why I brought you in on this, Jemma,” Coulson interjected.  “I was wondering if you might look over the proposal.  I’m curious to see what you think.”

 

It was brilliant.  Working with Fitz to reopen the Academy, the place where they’d spent so many happy days. But he did not return her smile, instead looking anywhere in the room but in her direction.  Jemma couldn’t help but feel unsettled, like she was missing something.

 

“There’s no need to bother Agent Simmons, Director.  I can assure you the proposal is very thorough and we are quite well equipped to begin.” The edge in Fitz’s voice only fueled her suspicions.  Coulson didn’t seem affected.  

 

“I am certain that’s true, Agent Fitz, but as one of my top scientists, I would appreciate Agent Simmons’ perspective on this.”  

 

As Jemma looked over the proposal, she couldn’t help but feel proud.  Fitz was right, it was not only thorough but perfect.  He and Agent Weaver had made allowances for every eventuality, had considered every angle, and secured resources beyond her highest expectations.  She gave her strongest recommendation to Coulson, but still something plagued her.  

 

It was odd, first that they would have arrived so prepared for a meeting that was so spontaneous, and secondly that neither Fitz nor Weaver had mentioned any of their plans sooner.  Surely Weaver would ask Jemma to come aboard as faculty - or at least it would have crossed her mind?

 

Jemma found Fitz in the kitchen, filling the kettle.

 

“Your proposal is incredible, Fitz.  Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

 

He didn’t answer, instead shuffling through the cabinets, presumably in search of tea.  

 

“Top right.”  

 

“Thanks.”

 

He paused for a moment and finally brought himself to look at her.  Jemma was surprised by the pained look that momentarily swept across his face.    

 

“I like the lab, working with Callie and the lot, but I can’t help but feel this whole time I’ve just been - on pause.  This . . . this thing with Weaver - it’s a chance at something permanent, Jemma.  I could still consult, but no more fieldwork.  No more flying circuses.  I’d have my own lab, my own place -” his voice was soft and it trailed off.  He was staring at the floor, knuckles white against the counter.  

 

Something permanent.  The words echoed in Jemma’s ears.  Fitz at a new lab, their separation, it had all been just killing time, but now he wanted to make it permanent.  Jemma felt tears pulling at the back of her eyes as she fought to understand the sadness in his eyes, the quiet resignation in his voice.  

 

“But surely the Academy will be in need of qualified faculty.  I mean, Weaver hasn’t said anything, but I’m sure Coulson could slowly be brought round to the idea of my leaving, if there was a position open.”  Jemma forced a fake smile, trying to sound natural but the wrongness of everything was crawling into her.  

 

“Jemma,” Fitz stood up straight balling his fists and staring at the ceiling.  He swallowed hard, almost choking on his confession.  “I asked Weaver not to bring you on board with this.”

 

Jemma’s legs sunk beneath her and she fumbled for the chair for support.  “But why, Fitz?  I don’t understand.”  

 

Fitz  turned to face her.  He was shaking despite all efforts to hold back.  

 

“It’s been three years, Jemma, and I thought I would move on but I haven’t.  And I can’t - I can’t look at you.  I can’t even be in the same room with you.  Weaver, she wanted to offer you a position, but I stopped her.”

 

Jemma’s mouth was wide in disbelief, her eyes burning into his.  They stood inches apart, chests heaving in unison.  He seemed to be wrestling with himself, restless energy channeled in the clasping and release of his hands.  Without warning, he grabbed her and pulled her mouth to his.  The kiss was desperation itself, his body pulled flat against hers as she reached for him and drew him in deeper.  

 

Gasping, Fitz tore himself away roughly, threading his hands through his hair, his cheeks slippery with tears.  

 

“Why didn’t you come for me when Will left?” he whispered, almost as if he didn’t dare to ask.

 

Jemma responded with a faltering sob.  She didn’t have an answer, instead she moved toward him, raising a hand to cheek where she delicately traced her fingers across the length of his jaw.  

Fitz’s chest halted as though he’d stopped breathing, and Jemma’s head collapsed into it despite his stiffness, her fingers finding his and twisting around them.  “I kept looking for the right way to tell you, Fitz - that I never stopped loving you - not once.”

 

“I wrote love letters,” she said, with a bitter laugh, “if you can believe it.  So many times I picked up the phone to call, but I was so scared.  I’ve made so many mistakes.  I thought  I’d really lost you.”

 

Fitz’s body shuddered beneath the force of his exhalation and finally melted into her embrace, bringing his arms around her waist and placing a tender kiss on her head.  “No, never.”

 

Jemma held on tighter, as though she might actually become part of him.  “What do you think we should do about it?”

 

Eventually they sunk to the floor, backs against the cupboards and knees bent.  Their fingers rested on his lap, entwined, his voice was employed in the rhythmic art of storytelling, her eyes were alight with the joy in it, and the hallways were full with the sound of their laughter.

**Author's Note:**

> This story has actually been haunting me since 3x06. I feel like there is something romantic in the long game, waiting for life to bring our two heroes back together again. I also wanted to give Fitz a companion that, although she might not be his equal in science, can compete with him emotionally. So enter Callie. I hope you like her. 
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for reading and comments are so very appreciated!


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